How do you think of carpaccio?

Going into 2013 I fully intend (no, it’s not a bloody New Year’s Resolution) to be more accommodating with the divs, wankers and fly catchers who aim to make my life a complete misery with their cretinous stupidity.

I am going to always try and think of my basic outlook on life, and one that I really do believe and adhere to, 99% of the time.

It’s called the carpaccio rule.

I often quote this to others, often it seems to their total bemusement and often to their total indifference, however I think it is a theory that stands up well to scrutiny and I encourage others to consider it.

There are two people involved in this tale, my daughter Emily Esther and me, and a place of freshly served carpaccio. Just to clarify though, I like my carpaccio to be served au naturel. All of this modern approach to bunging a load of rocket on it, then parmesan shavings just fucks the whole dish up, and no doubt bulks it out so that cheapskate restaurateurs have to put fewer slices of beef on the plate.

So we have between EE and me, a plate of fresh, gleaming carpaccio.

EE: What’s that?

PDM: That’s called carpaccio, very thinly sliced raw beef.

EE: That’s shit that it, I’m not eating it.

PDM (ever the fat boy): Oh OK, would you like to order something else.

My point here is that, from whatever perspective you look at it, hers or mine, it’s still just a plate of raw beef. Our experience and particular preferences lead us to judge it one way or the other.

That is typically how I lead my life and judge other people, whatever you want/like, is good by me.

Unless of course you work for Hillingdon Borough Council, BA or Tesco or are terminally stupid.

Thus the terminally stupid still need to watch out as I shall continue to report on their terminal stupidity.